Ça Va Sans Dire
French, means: “it goes without saying”
Summary: V survives the shooting and the story continues.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nothing from V for Vendetta is mine. This is just for fun.
~~~~~
Chapter 2
In the bathroom, her mind undistracted, it reverted to worrying and guilt. He was breathing which was good but he had lost a lot of blood. Evey hadn’t even bothered to see if the bleeding had stopped. She hadn’t cleaned the wounds, or figured out how bad they were. She had offered him no pain killers, no antibiotics (never mind that she had none on hand) and no blanket. She hadn’t asked a single relevant question but had instead allowed herself to be derailed by a silly book. It was just like him to do something like that.
Refusing to fall victim to any more of his diversionary tactics, she set about making more tea, locating some clean towels and a bowl of warm water, and wondering if he would want to eat and whether or not he should. She made some toast, pulled butter and jam from the fridge and made her way back toward his room carrying a heaping tray.
He was not in his bed but instead leaning heavily against the door to the attached bathroom.
She set her tray down on the bed and sighed. “If you could have waited 10 more seconds I could have helped you, you know.”
He nodded, “Yes, I know.”
“You don’t want my help?” She asked, feeling angry and unsure of herself. He needed her, didn’t he?
The mask came up and she knew he was looking at her. There were times she hated the infernal mask that let him see every emotion that flitted across her face but left him impervious to similar scrutiny. She had no way to know what he was thinking but assumed that it had something to do with caring for himself for 20 years and doing a pretty good job of it given the circumstances. But when he spoke, rather than remind her of his self sufficiency, he asked quietly, “Evey, help me to the bed, would you?”
She crossed the room in record time and stopped in front of him, unsure where she could touch him without hurting him. He put an arm across her shoulders and she heard his pained hiss as his face descended close to her ear. She had not realized how heavy he was. Tall and thin as he was she assumed he was much lighter. But she got him the 10 steps to the bed without collapsing.
“I need to replace these,” she remarked to herself about the bloody bed clothes as he sank onto them.
“Later, perhaps.”
“Okay then, tasks at hand. I’ve brought you some tea and toast, if you think you can manage it. If you go for the tea you will probably be needing this,” She held up an empty jug for him to see. “I’ve found a first aid kit and, I’m afraid, there isn’t a single book in here that will distract me from taking care of those wounds today. So where shall we start?”
“The, um, jug is an interesting touch I wouldn’t have thought of. Very creative. And kind as it is, I don’t think I’m up to eating just yet. I’d rather go back to sleep if you don’t mind.”
She had been expecting him to try to dodge her. “That’s fine with me after we’ve addressed those wounds. They can’t wait, V.”
“They haven’t,” he replied lifting his shirt just a little to reveal a belly wrapped in white gauze. “While you were in the kitchen I took care of them.”
“All of them?” She asked wondering if she had really been gone long enough for that.
“Yes.”
“Are there any, ah, bullets unaccounted for?” She had watched a crime investigation show where they talked about there having to be an even number where bullets were concerned. An entrance and an exit wound or an entrance and the surgically removed bullet. Either way, you have an even number. If the number is odd, there is a missing bullet somewhere.
He held out a hand to her presenting two mutilated slugs. “Eight total holes, two dug out bullets.”
She did the math in her head. She had not considered that even with an even number of holes there could still be lodged bullets. She cringed. “You’re sure you got all of them?”
“Yes.”
“You dug them out yourself?” She asked, her arms had folded over her stomach and her shoulders had rounded down as if she were protecting herself. Noticing her odd posture she straightened up and tried to appear more relaxed.
“Yes.” He sighed, sounding as if he were reliving the experience and not enjoying it.
“Was that wise?”
“Undoubtedly not.”
She snorted at that, silly man. Moving past him she entered the bathroom which looked for all the world like the scene of a crime. The water in the sink was a bloody pink and there were drips and splashes covering the counter and floor. His clothes from the night before lay in a heap in the middle of it, the pox marked mask sitting atop them looking piteously white in the midst of black and red. “Oh God, where did you find the strength to do this?”
Evey had spoken softly but somehow he heard her and replied, “Where there is a will there is a way.”
She smiled, “That should be your motto.”
“It is.”
~~~~~
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